Anvil thumps me on the back and goes back to his bag work. Tiernan, the owner of O’Rourke’s, has five heavy bags lined up along the side wall. It gives everyone plenty of space to workon their striking. He has an efficient setup, including a cage and boxing ring, which is exactly what I’d expect from a former middleweight champion.
O’Rourke’s Corner has a full house today. The trendy beat of the latest pop song pipes through the speakers. That has to be Tank’s most recent playlist. He loves to annoy Anvil with his musical taste, or lack thereof. I ignore the fact that my fingers are tapping out the beat on my thigh.
The clinking of the weights and the pounding of the heavy bag soothe me, but then this place has always been more than just somewhere to train. For some of us, it’s home.
“Everything ready for your class?” Tiernan appears at my shoulder. For an Irish guy, he’s pretty stoic. Although that seems to be getting better now that he and Arlo are together. He actually smiled the other day.
“Yeah, I’m all set.”
“Good. Thinking about expanding into the next space. It’s empty right now. With all the recent interest in our BJJ classes, we could use a couple more rooms. Micah’s killing it on the social media stuff. I can barely keep up with it all,” he tells me in that sparse, steady tone of his. He’s a stand-up guy and a solid friend.
“You know me, happy to volunteer for more teaching spots,” I say. I make better money teaching than I do with my side gig as a bouncer. Amateur MMA isn’t a lucrative career path, but I wouldn’t want to do anything else.
“Gonna go grab Arlo and Micah for lunch. Tank is already eating,” I warn him.
I get a half-smile. It’s the closest thing to a laugh that I’m getting out of T.
“Better hurry then. I’m working with Saint on his striking. I’ll grab something later,” Tiernan says before wandering over tocheck on Suerte, one of our pros. T’s a retired fighter, and he’s a terrific resource for those of us still trying to make it happen.
I rub my hand over my bald head. It’s a nervous habit that I wish I could quit, even though I love the feel of it. I get like this when I have to have an actual conversation with Micah. It’s nerve-wracking.
Suerte’s frowning at Tiernan, but Suerte always looks as if he’s pissed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the guy smile. The only time I see him look remotely happy is during a fight. Not sure what that says about him, and I’m sure as hell not gonna ask. He’s even more close-mouthed than Micah, and one hell of a fighter. He’s been a pro for almost three years now, and he’s done pretty well for himself.
Arlo’s in the office working away on his laptop. Tiernan has him doing all the business stuff now, which is perfect because Tiernan hates paperwork. Arlo seems to enjoy it, and it works for them.
“Hey Diesel!” Arlo’s a different person now that he and T are together. He’s always wearing a warm, contented smile these days, especially when he’s around T. I want that too. Someday.
“Just checking in. You eat yet? ‘Cause Tank’s in there so you might want to hurry.”
Arlo laughs as he shuts his laptop and stands. It’s such a bright, cheerful sound that I can’t help but grin back. I’m so glad the two of them found each other.
He’s definitely put on some weight since Tiernan first gave him a job here. He was homeless and skinny as a rail at first, but now he’s looking much healthier. I’m glad to see it and not just because he loves my cooking. Although that does make him one of my favorites.
I head over to Micah’s sketching corner. He seems to have claimed it, and no one’s objected. I guess it’s his now. I don’tmind. Seeing him make the gym his home has been so satisfying. From what I can tell, he needed one.
I tap him lightly on the shoulder to get his attention. His head jerks up, but when he sees it’s me, he gives me a warm grin and pulls out his earbuds. Even just a month ago, I couldn’t get a smile out of him, much less a conversation.
“Hey, Diesel. You guys need me?” he asks in that precise way of his—not controlled so much as contained. His voice is lower than you’d expect for someone his age, and a bit rough, but, damn, I could listen to it all day.
“Nah, checking to see if you want some lunch. Tank’s already started, and you know how that goes.”
“Hah. Valid. That man’s a menace. I better get in there.”
“Smart man.”
I hold out my hand to help him up. He’s not big on physical affection. That’s hard for me because that’s my go-to, but I get that it’s not for everyone.
He takes it without hesitation, and I pull him up. It’s not difficult. He’s tall but lanky, all lean muscle and long legs. He pushes his dark hair away from his face. It’s longer now, but he hasn’t cut it. The way it hangs over his eye on the side is hot AF. My hands are dying to get a hold of it. Maybe with Micah on his knees…
Do not go there right now.
I try not to sniff him when he’s this close to me, but it’s a struggle. He always smells so good. Citrus, spice and him. It makes me want to wrap my arms around him and never let him go, but I content myself with a quick back pat. Three months ago, he would have flinched at that. Progress, I guess.
Arlo’s already at the small card table in the break room. It’s old and worn and can only seat four people comfortably. If we keep adding more strays, we’re gonna need a bigger table. I’ll mention that to T.
Micah grabs some of my chicken artichoke casserole, my newest experiment, and takes a seat next to Arlo. Tank, of course, has a heaping plate. Seriously, I can’t figure out how that guy makes weight.
“Oh God, this is so good,” Arlo says, neatly cutting himself another bite.